


The Stars Are All Extinguished

by sock10



Series: Daemon AU [2]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Genre: Gaslighting, Id Fic, Imprisonment, M/M, Manipulation, Pre-Slash, Stockholm Syndrome, daemon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sock10/pseuds/sock10
Summary: AU where Strange is Norrell's prisoner.
Relationships: Gilbert Norrell/Jonathan Strange
Series: Daemon AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656037
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	The Stars Are All Extinguished

"What do you propose to do? Keep my dæmon from me forever?" Strange thrashed on the bed, pulling violently against his wrist and ankle restraints. "Is this how you behave, sir? Have you no honour? You spit on all that we hold sacred — you tamper with another magician's dæmon — "

"I have not touched your dæmon, Mr Strange," Norrell broke in sharply, "and if you do not calm yourself, sir, I will place a silencing charm upon you."

"Get her out of that cage." Strange pressed his cheek to the ticking, trying to see into the iron cage that stood in the corner of the room.

"You know I cannot do that," Norrell said. Dorothea moved restlessly on his shoulder, her small weight wobbling as she turned.

The servants were carrying out the last of the furniture. Norrell moved back to let them roll up the rug, and once they had removed that, all that remained was a single chair, a small table by the window, the iron cage containing Strange's dæmon, and the bed on which Strange himself lay.

"Will that be all, sir?" said Thompson, the under-butler. Norrell gave a nod and the man left quickly. The household had been thrown into chaos by Norrell's sudden return, and Strange's presence disturbed the servants greatly.

Norrell looked down at the restraints which held Strange. They were made of thick leather. There was no way Strange would be able to get free of them without the use of magic.

Norrell looked at Strange's face and found the man staring at him, his red-rimmed eyes full of wildness and rage. He was dirty from the voyage. His hair was tangled and matted with filth. It was hard to look at him.

"How long do you think you can hold me here?" Strange said.

"I have your dæmon." Norrell turned away. "You know as well as I that you cannot perform magic unless I allow it."

"I did not think you were capable of this." Strange laughed bitterly. "There were many things I did not think you were capable of. How naive I was. If I had only seen what was obvious. Staring me in the face the entire time. It is because of _you_ that the door between the worlds was opened, it is because of _you_ that the faerie took my wife. What you did to Lady Pole — "

"That is enough, Mr Strange." Norrell lifted a finger.

Strange's mouth snapped shut.

With only the simplest of spells, Norrell had silenced him. As long as Strange's dæmon was under his control, Norrell had complete mastery over the man.

"You cannot speak in this way. I forbid it."

Strange's eyes bore into him, bright with fury.

"It has been a long journey for all of us," Norrell went on composedly, lowering his hand and settling his traveling cloak back into place. "I suggest you get some rest. Later we shall see about getting you cleaned up."

Norrell turned. Childermass was standing just inside the doorway.

It unsettled Norrell. How much had he heard?

"The last of the luggage is in, sir," said Childermass.

"Good." Norrell went to the door, and in an undertone said to Childermass, "You are to remain outside this door. See that no one comes near. No one is to speak to Mr Strange. No one is to enter this room. Is that understood?"

"Aye, sir."

*

Norrell had been gone from England nearly a fortnight.

He could barely make it through the crowd of ministers pressing in from all sides as he tried to cross the central hall. Surrounding him were angry faces, men shouting.

He had come to deliver his report to the Prime Minister, he had no intention of answering questions from any other man, but that did not stop the clamour of raised voices, the crush of bodies.

"Let him through!" the doorkeeper bellowed at his side. "Let him through — if you please, gentlemen!"

It soon became clear that the Prime Minister would not see him alone.

So it was that Norrell was forced to address the full Chamber of Peers, which was filled beyond capacity, so overcrowded that people had to stand packed in at the doorways at either end.

The Prime Minister and the ministers wanted reassurance that Strange was incapacitated. Many were so eager to voice their fear and distrust that Norrell could scarcely make himself heard.

"It is by the most —" Norrell held up his hand for quiet. "It is by the most powerful magic that Mr Strange is kept under my control! My home is his prison, and he shall not escape—"

A roar of voices intruded again, drowning Norrell out, until the Speaker shouted above the din, turning purple in the face, finally restoring order.

"I assure you," Norrell said, "Mr Strange is powerless. This does not mean, however, that every man in Westminster may march through my doors and disrupt the wards I have laid down!"

"How long will this magic hold him?" a man shouted.

"Better if he were killed," someone else called.

"Gentlemen, please!" Norrell winced as the babble rose louder and louder.

He did not stay long.

His head was ringing as he hauled himself up into the safety of the carriage box. The door was shut crisply behind him, and finally, finally there was quiet. He rested his head back not even bothering to remove his hat, he pressed his eyes shut.

In future, the Prime Minister would need to come and visit _him_. Nothing could induce him to return to Parliament and face such a barrage again.

*

On the third morning, Childermass came into the library while Norrell was answering letters.

"Mr Strange refuses to eat, sir."

Norrell set aside his quill carefully. Dorothea flew to his shoulder as he stood.

He climbed the stairs to the first and second landings, then the final flight of stairs up to the top level of the house. A narrow passage led to the old butler's room which had been repurposed to serve as Strange's cell.

The white-washed walls of the little room were bright with sunlight, a blue sky showed at the small window — but the sight of Strange bound to the bed, and Henrietta lying quiet in her cage made it impossible to imbue the scene with anything like cheerfulness.

With Dorothea perched on his shoulder, Norrell went to the window. In the walled garden far below, the housekeeper was beating out a rug in the gusting winds, her skirts and her bonnet blown about, yellow daubs of daffodils bobbing wildly in the grass at her feet.

"This cannot continue, Mr Strange," said Norrell. "Really, it cannot. You must eat, and you must bathe."

"By what authority do you keep me here?" Strange asked mildly. "Have you been made Grand Inquisitor of your medieval magicians court yet?"

Norrell turned from the window. "You are not in your right mind. You are at present a danger to yourself and to others. You have no notion of the strife and chaos you caused. The black tower which you brought down on Venice was very nearly taken as an act of war."

"The faerie put the curse on me." Strange turned his head. He looked as if he had not slept. "The black tower was his doing. You know this."

"I know that you meddled in things beyond your comprehension. Again and again I warned you — "

"It is only the two of us here. Surely you may speak plainly now." Strange said this in reasonable tones. "Tell me what you know of the faerie. What is his name? How many times did you meet with him?"

"I do not know what you are talking about — "

"I spoke with him, he told me that he had had dealings with an English magician already. With _you._ "

"I was foolish enough to hope that given what happened in Venice, you might have—"

"We are wasting time," Strange broke in. "We must act before something worse happens. The faerie is formidable, but we can overcome it. We will need to work together if we are to kill it— "

Norrell stared. "Kill it? Supposing you even succeeded in summoning such a creature, which I do not believe you did — you now speak of killing it? Such a thing would be impossible." Norrell paced back and forth in the narrow confines of the room. "You dabbled in black magic. You brought a curse down upon yourself. You endangered the lives hundreds of thousands of innocent people. In Parliament they think you have gone mad. They think you went to Venice in order to parlay with every sort of diabolical creature of the occult. It is rumoured that you killed your wife by witchcraft — "

Strange let out a sudden harsh bark of laughter. "Yes, yes, very good."

"It is only because of _me_ that you are alive at all! You would have gladly destroyed yourself and all of Venice in pursuit of these delusions. _I_ have gone before Parliament on your behalf, _I_ have convinced them that you are not a danger to us all, that you will not need to be put down like some — some rabid beast."

"And who would put me down? You?" Strange stared at him fixedly. "What have I done that you have not? I am made out to be a villain only because I am honest. I summoned the faerie, just as you did, sir. I did it to bring back my wife, what justification did you have? You and that creature together have destroyed Lady Pole — "

"These ravings — they make you sound quite mad — "

"Yes, that worked once, did it not? Just how many people do you hope to discredit in that manner? You will need an asylum for all of us." Strange paused. Then, in a low voice, "Tell me what you know about the faerie."

"I do not know what you speak of."

"Liar!"

Strange's shout caused Norrell to start.

"Do you take me for a fool, sir?" he went on loudly. "I saw him! I spoke with him! It is thanks to you that we are brought to this! You summoned him to England and he has been spiriting away God alone knows how many English people! Lady Pole. My wife. That — butler of Sir Walter's. How many others? And you have done nothing but lie from the beginning. If you had told me the truth about Lady Pole, we could have stopped him before more damage had been done. Together we might have —"

"You are confused, Mr Strange," Norrell interrupted, with quiet restraint. "You cursed yourself. You meddled with the most terrible magic and it has left you confused."

"Confused?" Strange's look was wild, dangerous. "Indeed?"

Norrell turned away, unnerved. "You paid no heed to my warnings — and now you wish to blame me for the dreadful sin that you have committed —"

"Damn you!" Strange threw himself against his restraints. The bed frame thumped against the wall. "What is your purpose? As a magician. At every turn you have sought to suppress the very magic that we need most! Do you suppose you can ignore this problem you have created forever? Do you care nothing for England's safety? Academic publishing, respectability — do you think any of that will help us? Is the only thing you care about your wretched book—?"

"I do not need to listen to this." Norrell went towards the door. He moved so sharply, Dorothea scrambled to stay on his shoulder.

No sooner had he reached the door than Strange called after him:

"Mr Norrell! Mr Norrell, do not go. Please. I — I'm sorry. Please do not go."

Norrell turned slowly, reluctantly. He looked with stern censure on Strange.

"I will tell no one," Strange said. "Not a soul. Upon my word. All I want...is to bring my wife back. I will go to the faerie's kingdom. I will kill him — I will see to the business myself. I will free Bell. Only let me go to her, and you will never see me or hear from me again. I will never speak a word of any of this." Strange licked his lips. "What will it take? What do you want? Name it. My book? You wanted my book destroyed — I will do it myself. I will — denounce all I have ever said on the subject of magic."

Norrell returned to the window as Strange spoke. Dorothea nestled close against his cheek.

"You will be the only magician in England, and you will never have to think of me again. That's what you want, isn't it?"

When Norrell made no reply, Strange rattled his restraints violently.

"Only tell me what I must do, and I will do it! Every moment that I am here, she is there, with _him._ "

Norrell turned. He stood with the light of the window behind him, looking at Strange laid out on the bed, pale and wild-eyed, quite mad-looking.

"Your wife is dead, Mr Strange," said Norrell.

For a moment, Strange's face was still as a mask.

Then he erupted.

"Do not you dare say that she is dead!"

In the iron cage, Henrietta thrashed about, throwing herself against the bars.

"Mr Strange!" Norrell started towards the cage. "Mr Strange, control yourself!"

"I will not rest until I have brought Arabella back from Faerie!"

"You will never set foot in Faerie again."

Norrell quit the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a bang. Dorothea shrieked and flapped around the dim corridor.

"You cannot hold me forever!" Strange's shout followed after him.

*

Another two days elapsed, and still Strange refused to take any food.

After supper, Norrell made the journey to the top of the house.

"This can become very unpleasant indeed, if that is how you wish it to be," he said, pacing, with Dorothea on his arm. "Will you not look at Henrietta? Do you let her waste away like this?"

In the iron cage, the dæmon lay unmoving.

"What do you hope to gain by starving yourself? By living in filth?"

"I am sorry that I do not behave as you wish," Strange said. "If you want me to eat, why do you not simply _force me_ to eat? If you want me to bathe, why do you not _force me_ to bathe? You have mastery over my dæmon. You have taken away my ability to do magic. You keep me imprisoned here. What is to stop you from taking command of my person entirely?"

"Please do not speak in this way. It is so very base." Norrell's footsteps were loud on the wooden floorboards, in the bare little room. "You have lost your grip on reality. You have lost control of yourself. Do you wonder that I must keep you contained? A magician who has given himself over to chaos, who has courted madness? Do you think I should set you free to roam about and do more damage?"

"I see you clearly," Strange said softly. He stared up at the ceiling. "I have not seen clearly since the day my wife disappeared. She vanished in the night. She went walking in the snow, without a coat, without even her shoes. All day, we searched for her. We walked the length of the Brackens. I could not find her. When at last she came home — " Strange shut his mouth tight for moment. "It was not her. You know it." His eyes flashed at Norrell, a grim smile about his lips. "I see you clearly now."

Norrell encountered one of the housemaids hesitating on the stairs with a pitcher of water. He sent her scurrying with an angry word. In the days since his return he had seen the servants standing about with their heads bent close, talking in whispers about the lunatic magician who was prisoner in the house.

"I will not have servants eavesdropping!" he told Childermass.

"You will not have servants at all soon. Not many like to work in a house where a mad magician might put a curse on them."

"Mr Strange cannot curse anyone," Norrell snapped. "You will tell the servants that no one other than yourself is to go up to the top landing of this house, is that understood?"

*

The next evening, Strange escaped.

The first Norrell knew about it, Childermass was at his bedroom door, bleeding from the head.

"Mr Strange is gone," he panted.

Norrell ran to the butler's bedroom. He stopped only long enough to look in at the door. Strange's bed was empty, the restraints open. The dæmon was gone from the iron cage.

"How did this happen? You were supposed to be guarding him!" Norrell turned and almost collided with Childermass whose face was running with blood.

"He used some type of illusion — "

"Impossible." Norrell hurried from the room and started down the stairs, Dorothea swooping ahead of him, shrieking piercingly. "No." He stopped in place, gripping the banister. "Fetch me the Willis book of summoning from the library. Be quick about it!"

Childermass moved past him. Servants have come onto the landing, one of the girls screamed at the sight of Dorothea beating her wings.

Norrell ran back to the doorway of the butler's room and stood there with his eyes shut and his hands raised, muttering the words of an incantation under his breath. Dorothea was still piping piercing screeches near his ear, but then that fell silent, and the magic brought a different sound to his ears, like an object buoyed along on a river — it was a dog barking, the sound distorted and wavering. Then gradually a murky image came into his mind. It was a window in a dark room. A moon hung brilliant white in the night sky. After a moment, Norrell recognised the window, and the room. It was the Green Writing Room upstairs.

*

Henrietta was barking. As she saw Norrell, she bowed her back, her head low and her tail tucked, she ran into the shadows in the corner of the room. There was only the moonlight through the window to see by.

The large gilded mirror on the wall had been smashed. Shattered glass glittered on the floor. Strange stood dark before the ruined mirror.

"Mr Strange!" Norrell came into the room with his hand raised. Dorothea shrieked and flew wildly round his head. "Come away from there. I will do magic against you if I must."

Strange turned slowly. He looked like a fiend in his long dark robe, with his tangled hair hanging in his eyes.

In the dimness it took Norrell a moment to realise that in Strange's hand was a large shard of glass from the mirror.

"Put that down," Norrell said.

Why did Childermass not come?

"Mr Norrell?" Strange stared at him, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the gloom. "It is you?"

"Of course it is me." Norrell moved closer, his hand still raised. "What have you done here?"

Strange looked at the broken glass on the floor.

"I...I do not know. I..." His eyes were feverish bright as he looked at Norrell again. "Forgive me."

Norrell stepped closer. The glass crunched beneath his shoes.

Dorothea had landed on top of the bookshelf. She called out anxiously to him.

"Did you go through the mirror?"

"I'm afraid I am — not myself. Mr Norrell, I'm afraid I —"

Strange shook his head. His face was bone-white. His hands were shaking.

Norrell reached out and laid a hand gingerly on Strange's arm. "Why don't you put that down, Mr Strange? Just put it down."

Strange looked down at his hand. With dull surprise he saw he held the shard of glass. He opened his fist slowly. The bloody piece of glass fell to the floor.

"There now," Norrell said.

He needed to regain command over Strange's dæmon.

If he must fight Strange with magic, if there must be a magician's duel... He trembled inwardly at the thought. His books were all downstairs. Why had his hex on Henrietta failed?

Strange looked up at him. His eyes shone with tears.

"What is it?" Norrell said. "What is the matter?"

Strange's voice came in a whisper. "You must forgive me."

"Why? What have you done?"

"You were right." Strange pressed his lips together. "There was — no faerie. Mr Norrell. I have...been deceiving myself. I was so certain that I had seen her. I so dearly wanted to see her —" He moved closer and his fingers groped at Norrell's sleeve and gripped tightly. "I have done you a great disservice, sir."

"You are not yourself," Norrell said, leaning slightly away. "Come, we must — "

"No. Please." Strange held him fast. "I buried my wife. Under the old oak tree on the Black Hill. The burial plot of my family. It felt wrong. Everything. It was all so wrong. That day she disappeared. The way she — the way she —" He pressed his lips together, his mouth twisting.

"You must come out of this room now, Mr Strange," Norrell said firmly. "Come."

"Is my wife...truly dead? Mr Norrell?" Strange stared at him with eyes brimming with tears.

Norrell hesitated. He nodded.

For a moment, Strange did not react. His mouth changed into almost the shape of a smile, tortured and distorted, he shut his eyes tightly with a grimace of weeping, his face crumpled, his whole person crumpled. He crouched down and wrapped his arms around his head. His fingers gripped the back of his neck. His breathing came wet and shuddering.

Norrell stood immobile, bewildered.

"Mr Norrell!" There was the thump of footfalls, then Childermass arrived in the doorway, gripping the doorframe to halt himself. He had the summoning book in his hand.

"It's alright," said Norrell. "Mr Strange is here."

"What happened?" Childermass came to him. "Where is she?" He looked about the room and saw Henrietta cowering in the corner.

To be reminded of the dæmon jolted Norrell from his inaction. He went to the dæmon and performed the hex quickly. She cringed away from him but otherwise she did not seek to evade the spell. When Norrell was done, she remained cowering in the corner, her white fur, though Norrell knew it to be dirty, showed pale and pearly in the moonlight.

Childermass helped Strange to his feet.

Out in the corridor, Strange staggered and caught himself against the wall and bent and wretched as if he might vomit.

Norrell saw two servants at the other end of the corridor.

"You — do not stand there staring," he said. "Fetch water and bandages."

The men hurried away.

Strange wretched again. He spat bile onto the floorboards.

"There you are, sir." Childermass hitched Strange's arm around his neck and hauled him upright and led him along the corridor, back to the servant bedroom.

*

Strange lay on the bed, turned to the wall. Henrietta had followed them into the room and jumped on the bed after Strange. She now lay curled up against his legs.

Childermass drew the blanket over Strange.

"What happened to him?" said Childermas. They both looked down at Strange. "Mr Norrell. Is it magic?"

"None that I can detect."

"Did he say anything?"

Norrell shook his head.

"Should Henny go back in her cage?"

"No. Let her stay. Perhaps I — perhaps it was in error that I kept them apart for so long. Let them be together."

*

Strange was feverish within a couple of hours, and could not be woken.

Childermass touched his forehead. "He is worsening."

"Where is the doctor?" said Norrell.

"I sent the boy for him. What do you suppose has brought this on?"

"Mr Strange would take no food. He scarcely sleeps. He has made himself ill." Norrell made himself speak calmly. "All I can think is that perhaps the strain of what happened in Venice is now catching up with him."

"Sir." Childermass straightened and looked at him. "You have not told me entirely what occurred while you were in Venice."

"I believe..." Norrell set down the candlestick he was carrying on the little table near the window. He kept his back to Childermass as he spoke. "I believe Mr Strange accidentally cursed himself while he was attempting to perform black magic. I was able to free him from the curse only by summoning his dæmon. But it was a powerful curse he was trapped inside. I am not surprised it has taken a toll on him."

"He was not like this when first he arrived," Childermass said quietly. "Or even yesterday."

"He has worn himself down, refusing to eat. In his attempt to escape — well, he has weakened himself, somehow."

"And he was able to overcome the hex."

"That was my error. I should have realised that the hex might degrade over time. I shall have to perform the spell more regularly, that is all." Norrell looked at Henrietta. The candlelight played off her fur, greasy and ill-kept. "A doctor must look at him. If the problem is physical, the doctor can remedy it. If it is magical — well, it is pointless to speculate until we have heard from the doctor."

*

The doctor, Mr Abrams, came out of the room with his bag in his hand.

"I can offer no opinion on any magical cause. By all appearances, the gentleman has a fever. Someone must stay with him through the night, he must be kept warm, and in the morning I will come again."

*

"Let me sit with him now, sir. You'll need your rest for tomorrow."

Reluctantly, Norrell stood from his seat at Strange's bedside. He had a meeting with the Admiralty the next morning, or else he would not have retired.

He did not sleep a great deal in any case. Again and again, he repeated the scene in the writing room, Strange in front of the shattered mirror, the man's confused behaviour, the way Henrietta had cringed in the shadows, her eyes rolling with terror. Certainly, Strange had been in a half-dream. But what had happened to him?

Deep in the night, when the sky outside the windows was still dark, he took his candle and climbed the stairs to the butler's room. A wedge of light issued through the gap between the door and the jamb.

Childermass was sitting in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, a small book resting open on his knee. He looked up at Norrell's coming.

"He sleeps fitful, sir. The fever makes him delirious."

Strange turned his head on his pillow, as if refusing something.

"Bell..." he rasped, his face tense with unhappy emotion.

"Will you fetch some cocoa," Norrell said quietly.

Childermass tucked his book into the pocket of his coat which hung over the back of the chair, then he withdrew from the room.

Norrell took the empty seat. He put his hand to his shoulder and Dorothea stepped onto his fingers. He settled her carefully on the arm of the chair.

Strange's eyes moved frantically under his eyelids. His face was shining with sweat, his hair matted damp against his pale skin.

"Bell — no..."

Henrietta's head rested on her master's leg. The dæmon's eyelids were hooded, her gaze sightless, comprehending nothing.

"Please..." Strange turned his face away. "Please. Bell..."

*

They moved Strange from the butler's room to the east bedroom the next day. It was a spacious room, with a large four poster bed.

For the next week, Strange battled the worst of his illness, and Mr Abrams visited daily. Norrell broke off all other engagements and spent much of his time in the east bedroom.

After the doctor deemed him to be out of danger, Strange remained bed-ridden for a further week. He was quite weakened and reduced.

When he was strong enough, Strange had a bath, with Childermass' assistance. He bathed in Norrell's own bathroom, which was the largest in the house.

While the room was empty, Mrs Stewart, the housekeeper, along with two housemaids, went to work cleaning the east bedroom and setting everything to rights. Norrell waited at a loose end in the library.

When all was ready, Norrell returned to the bedroom and found it all tidy, the bed things changed, fresh and folded back, the fire built up, tulips in a vase on the table, and everything pleasant and cosy.

The books which Norrell had brought up to the room over the past few days had been left untouched on the small round table near the armchair. Norrell resumed that seat and opened a book and waited.

When they came, Childermass was supporting Strange, who was wrapped in one of Norrell's heavy bathrobes. Childermass lowered Strange so that he sat on the edge of the bed. Henrietta followed them, keeping close to Strange's legs. Her fur was damp and clean. She jumped up onto the bed. Childermass held onto Strange's shoulder as Strange lay back against the pillows, then Childermass covered him with the blankets.

Strange's face was very pale and drawn and he lay with his eyes closed, his hand resting on Henrietta's head. His hair was damp still, but clean at least.

"That's taken it out of him," said Childermass.

"How do you feel after your bath, Mr Strange?" said Norrell, when Childermass had gone.

Strange took a moment to answer.

"Better," he said quietly. He half-opened his eyes and he turned his head slightly on the pillow, to look down at his hand resting on Henrietta. "Thank you."

"The doctor has said you must have plenty of sleep. You will perceive its good effects soon."

Strange nodded. His eyes fell shut again.

Norrell stayed in his armchair near the bed and for a while he watched Strange. It had begun to rain outside, droplets striking the windows. It was pleasant to be near the warmth of the fire.

Norrell returned to his book.

When next he lifted his eyes, Strange had turned over onto his side, and was asleep.

*

"It is a good stew. Lamb and potato." Norrell blew on the spoonful. "Come. Open your mouth."

Strange parted his pale, cracked lips and Norrell spooned the stew carefully into his mouth. Strange closed his lips on the spoon. Norrell carefully drew it out, clean and sliver, and watched with satisfaction as Strange chewed and swallowed.

Dorothea's talons clacked quietly as she paced along the back of the chair.

"Is there water?" Strange said in a hoarse voice.

"Here."

Strange supported himself on one arm and accepted the glass Norrell held out to him.

Norrell set the glass aside when Strange was done, and Strange lay back slowly against the pillows.

"You must try to eat some more." Norrell spooned up some more of the steaming stew. "Open your mouth."

Strange opened his mouth and Norrell fed him. It was peculiarly satisfying to see him take the food after the many days he had been too unwell to eat properly.

"You do not have to do this," Strange said quietly.

"It is no bother." Norrell fed him another mouthful.

Childermass had tried to dissuade Norrell from doing this job during those first days when Strange was too ill to feed himself, but Norrell had insisted. It did not seem right, for a gentleman such as Strange to be hand-fed by a servant.

Norrell remembered how Strange had been when he had come back from the Peninsula. His new self-assurance, the changed way in which he spoke. Norrell had not liked it at the time, but to think of that man now, and to see him as he was at present, an invalid — no, Norrell was quite certain that Strange would not want anyone but Norrell to see him in this condition.

"How long have I been here?" said Strange. "In England, I mean."

"It has been two weeks and four days, Mr Strange. Today is the twentieth of February. You have had a fever. Here. After this you may rest."

"I do not want any more," said Strange, with the slight surliness of a schoolboy.

"It will do you good." Norrell sat with the bowl in his lap, the spoon resting in it. "Come."

Norrell blew on the stew and then held out the spoon. After a moment, to his surprise, Strange turned his head and accepted it. They went on like that in silence, until the bowl was empty.

Norrell put the things on the tray and set the tray aside. He held out his arm to Dorothea and she flew to him.

"You seem more settled, Mr Strange. I am glad of it." Norrell resumed his seat. "I hope you understand why it is still necessary that I keep the hex over Henrietta."

Strange stroked his dæmon's head gently. "Of course." His hand smoothed slowly over the dark, sleek head of the dog. "I know I have...caused you a great deal of trouble."

Norrell looked at him in surprise.

"I have disgraced myself," Strange said. "I — do not know if you — If you could accept my apology."

"Why, Mr Strange — "

"I know it is no excuse, but I have been...quite lost." When Strange looked at Norrell again, his eyes were red-rimmed. He tried to smile, a small tight smile. He looked down at his hand stroking Henrietta. "I am ashamed of the way I have behaved."

"I...cannot deny that I am gratified to hear you say it, but..." Norrell hesitated. "Mr Strange, I must ask. What happened that night? The night I found you by the broken mirror?"

Strange shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't remember that night very clearly."

"You attempted to escape. I found you in the writing room upstairs. The mirror on the wall had been broken. You said... Well. You were quite distressed."

"I can't recall much of any of it." Strange's expression clouded. "I'm sure I must have been attempting to get to Faerie."

Norrell found he was reluctant to remind Strange of the things he had said that night.

"Please do not misunderstand me. I am relieved beyond measure that you are more like yourself. But — when first you came to this house. You were of the belief that — that you had summoned a faerie in Venice."

"Yes." Strange grimaced faintly. "It is humiliating to speak of it now. But I am sure some humiliation is only a fraction of what I deserve. I was not in my right mind while I was in Venice. I gave myself over to...delirium and fantasy. It is cruelly plain to me now that there was no faerie. My mind was full of insane ideas and illusions."

Norrell scarcely dared move. "You seemed to think that...I had also summoned such a creature at one time."

The look Strange gave him was bruised and weary. "I have hurled the worst kind of insults and accusations at you, sir. I have blamed you for everything that was wrong in my own life."

Henrietta gazed up at her master as he spoke. Strange's hand rested loosely on the back of her neck.

"The business with Lady Pole — I suppose I latched onto it because..." Strange's voice dropped low. "Because she had been a friend of my wife's. You brought Lady Pole back from the dead. I became obsessed with the idea that I could do the same for — for Bell. I was wrong. And I understand now why you have always counselled against the use of that sort of magic. Why you have done it so rarely. I can give no justification for my behaviour towards you, sir. I...misused my magic." He flickered another glance at Norrell, and smiled thin and pained. "Abilities you were kind enough to teach me. I betrayed you."

Norrell held up his hand to stop him. "Really — really, Mr Strange, there is no need to —"

"There is every need. I am ashamed to recall the things I said to you. I am ashamed at how I behaved. I am no kind of magician."

Norrell got to his feet. "Please do not distress yourself. I pray you say no more."

"Mr Norrell, if we cannot be friends again, I hope at least you will not despise me. And in time...perhaps you might forgive me. Though I will understand if that is not possible."

"Certainly it is possible." Norrell took a step closer to the bed. "Certainly it is. Now I pray you say no more."

Strange nodded. His hand stroked Henrietta's head gently. "Of course."

*

"...to give a speech at Burlington House, and I've prepared some notes about the book that you may wish to look over — Mr Norrell?"

Norrell was gazing out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Two coaches coming opposite ways had stopped in the middle of the road and their coachmen were arguing, gesticulating at one another with their whips, while their passengers leaned out the doors. People passing along the pavement were staring.

"Mr Norrell?" Lascelles said sharply.

Norrell looked round in surprise. He had almost forgotten that the other man was present.

"Forgive me, sir, but I do not think you have heard one word I have said since my arrival." Lascelles capped his pen and laid it atop the stack of papers in front of him.

"My apologies, Mr Lascelles, I — " Norrell broke off at a knock at the door. "Come!"

It was Childermass.

"What is it?" Norrell said. "Is Mr Strange well?"

"He is sleeping, sir."

Norrell relaxed slightly. "Good. That is good." He smoothed his finger absently over Dorothea's ruffled breast. "Mr Lascelles," he said after a moment. "I am sorry. I do not have the head for business just now. Perhaps we might do this tomorrow."

Lascelles glanced at Childermass.

"Certainly." Stiffly, he stood and gathered his papers. "I will leave your speech for you to look over. Until tomorrow, sir."

Outside, the coaches had disentangled themselves and were drawing apart. A line of coaches and carts had built up due to the obstruction, and only now traffic began to move on.

"What is the matter, sir?" said Childermass.

Norrell had been stroking Dorothea's breast absently. The little owl was slightly fluffed up in agitation.

"I do not understand it," Norrell said quietly. "I do not understand it at all."

Childermass went to his usual place in the corner of the library and sat. Norrell looked at him finally.

"Mr Strange. Such a change has come over him."

"I would say Mr Strange is much more himself now than he has been since you brought him home." Childermass settled back in his seat. "That fever seems to have cleared his head."

Dorothea clicked her beak fretfully.

"He does not curse you," Childermass said. "He is no longer spitting venom and filled with a wild passion, with all his will set against you. He does not try to escape. He does not try to break open my head, for that I am glad."

"Something has happened to him."

"He has been ill."

"No. That night — that night he tried to go through the mirror." Norrell held out his hand for Dorothea, for she was trying to walk up his arm. She climbed onto his fingers and he placed her up on his shoulder. Her wings opened wide for a moment as she balanced herself and she did not keep still.

"You do not know what happened?" said Childermass.

"No."

"What has he said?"

There was a pause in which Norrell did not like to answer.

"Sir?"

"He apologised," said Norrell. "For the way that he has behaved."

"And that does not make you happy?"

Norrell turned away. He gave Dorothea his hand again and carried her away from the window.

*

By the start of April, Strange had more or less recovered from the worst shock of his illness.

"Mr Strange asks if he might sit out in the garden, sir," said Childermass one morning.

"In the garden?" Norrell looked up from his work. It was a sunny, though windy day. "Oh," he said worriedly. "I do not know about that."

He left his work at once to pay a visit to the east bedroom.

Strange was standing at the window, wrapped in the long dressing gown. His hand was resting on the casement. Henrietta, who was lying on the rug by the bed, lifted her head at the sound of Norrell's tread, and Strange turned as well after a moment. His face was dark the beginning of a beard and his hair was too long. The signs of recent illness were still evident on his face.

"Mr Strange. Childermass tells me you would like to sit out in the garden." Norrell paused in the doorway.

"It is only being forever in bed. Looking at the same things." Strange smiled wincingly. Then he grew more somber. "But — if you do not think it is a good idea — "

"No," Norrell said quickly, "Of course you can go out into the garden. It is only your health I worry about."

"I feel strong enough for it."

"Then...you'll be needing your clothes. I had some things brought from your house. I hope you do not mind. I had to ensure that nothing there was tampered with while you were out of the country. I had Childermass keeping an eye on things there."

Strange looked surprised. "I am grateful to you."

"Would you like to have tea outside?"

"Thank you." Strange drew himself up straighter, and for a moment he was his former self as he added with a tilt of his head, "You will join me, sir?"

"I — Yes, I will join you."

Norrell returned to the library. He finished writing a letter, and was then waiting a little while before Childermass came and fetched him.

"Mr Strange is ready, sir."

*

Norrell went down the steps into the garden. Strange was seated at the wrought iron table under the bush of jasmine that grew over the wall. Henrietta stood in the grass, nosing at the dark velvety purple crocuses that had come up fresh and stout. The breeze was quite cold, the sky was very blue. The full sunlight was warm enough whenever the wind subsided.

"Childermass helped me to shave." Strange stood as Norrell came to the table. "I am a little less like a wild man."

"It is not too cold for you?"

"Not at all."

They both took their seats. Dorothea flew into the jasmine and perched in amongst the branches, peering out.

Strange looked more like his old self, though without his beard, the haggardness of his appearance was more obvious.

Two servants brought out the tea things. The plates and cups were set out and the tea was poured. Strange sat quite still, only his unruly hair stirred as it was buffeted by the breeze.

The servants withdrew.

"They are afraid of me," said Strange quietly as he lifted the teacup to his lips.

Norrell took a moment to understand. He glanced at the doors the servants had gone through.

"I do not blame them," Strange added. The tremor in his right hand made the cup clatter slightly against the dish when he set it down. "What is that you have?"

He was looking at the bound stack of pages which Norrell had brought out with him.

"Ah. This is a book that I mean to review. A biography of Stokesie. By a young writer, it is his first book. I thought you might be interested."

The shift in Strange's countenance proved him right. Norrell handed over the bound stack of papers.

"Ian Keble was the last to write a biography of Stokesie, was he not?" Strange held the spine of the binding carefully as he turned the pages, to guard the papers from the wind.

Norrell ate a scone while Strange read.

"He is a Yorkshireman," Norrell said of the author.

"Ah. Do you know him?"

"Only through correspondence."

They finished their tea, and then it was too windy to stay out much longer.

As they were climbing the steps up to the house, Strange stopped and supported himself against the railing.

"Are you well, Mr Strange?"

"Only a little light-headed."

Norrell called at once into the house, "Childermass!"

"Really - it's nothing," Strange said.

Childermass came and Norrell moved aside. Childermass took Strange's elbow and helped him into the house.

"Come into the library," said Norrell.

Once he had seen Strange seated in a chair by the fire, he called for the fire to be built up, and for a blanket to be brought for Strange.

"Really, Mr Norrell — " Strange shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"We stayed out for too long."

A servant came with a wool blanket and Norrell tried to hand it to Strange, but Strange would not accept it.

"Please, Mr Strange, you have been very unwell." Norrell held the blanket out to him again. Childermass took it and laid it over Strange's lap, saying,

"You will make yourself ill again otherwise, sir."

"I am not an old man," Strange muttered.

Childermass moved behind Strange's chair and made a motion with his head, asking for Norrell's attention. He withdrew to the door and Norrell joined him there.

"Lord Liverpool invites you to come to Rules tomorrow to lunch with him and some of his ministers," Childermass said quietly.

"Tomorrow?" Norrell glanced at Strange, who sat watching the fire, Henrietta on the rug at his feet. "Yes, very good," Norrell said. "Tell him I will come."

Strange looked up as Norrell took the seat opposite him.

"Do you need to return to your work?"

"No, no." Norrell brushed at the leg of his breeches. After a moment he added, "It is only there is a meeting I must attend tomorrow with Lord Liverpool."

Strange nodded. He looked into the fire.

After a moment, a sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded.

"You must decide what to do with me, I suppose." He cut his eyes to Norrell. There was irony and dark amusement in his look, and something commiserating as well, as if he invited Norrell to share in some professional joke. Norrell could find nothing to smile at.

Norrell moved his hands restlessly on his knees.

"I had not thought to discuss the matter with you yet," said Norrell. "Not until you were in good health again."

"I am strong enough to hear what you have decided. I would rather know."

Norrell paused for a moment. He spread his hands. "I mean to tell them that you repent your actions. That you are no longer a danger to anyone."

"Is that what you believe?"

"Yes, it is."

Strange moved the blanket aside and stood. He stepped over Henrietta and stood close to the fire, his hand braced on the mantlepiece.

"I do not wish for you to blacken your name on my account. I must go before them myself. Speak for myself."

"I do not think that would be wise."

Strange looked back at him. "Do I seem so very mad?"

Norrell smiled slightly. "No," he said quietly. "But these men will not understand what you have been through, even if you were to try to explain it to them."

"Of course I will do whatever you think best." Strange leaned into his hand, leaning closer to the heat of the fire. "But I have misused magic. If there is a — a trial, a punishment, then I must face it."

"A trial? No, no. I have a hex over your dæmon. You can do no magic. You are a risk to no one."

"That does not erase what I have done."

Now Norrell stood as well, out of an excess of uneasy feeling. On his shoulder, Dorothea cracked her beak.

Norrell paced to the desk. "You have not harmed anyone."

"Only thanks to your intervention," Strange murmured.

"I think you would have died inside the black tower if you had remained as you were. The moment of your death would have brought about the end of the spell."

Norrell spoke rapidly, not wishing to dwell on the events of Venice, not wishing for Strange to dwell on them either. He feared stirring the man's memories.

"How can you be certain?" said Strange. "Even I do not know what magic it was that I did to create the curse. I was out of my mind. I thought of nothing, nothing beyond — " He broke off.

For a moment neither of them spoke further.

Norrell's every instinct warned him against letting Strange brood over these matters. It would be disastrous for him to think too much of the faerie. Norrell had no doubt that it was the creature that had cursed Strange, but it would be calamitous for Strange to remember that.

"You have not harmed anyone," Norrell repeated.

Strange smiled wryly. "A soft heart for your old pupil," he said quietly. His thumb rubbed at the moulding of the mantle piece. He regarded Norrell with melancholy and yet with warmth. Then he looked down into the fire. "If it were to come to a trial...I would do all in my power to distance myself from you and Norrellite magic. I would make sure your work would not be tarnished by association."

"There will be no trial."

"I cannot see how Parliament will accept that.

"I am England's First Magician. If I believe you are not a risk to society and you are to be pardoned, then you are to be pardoned."

"Pardoned?" Strange's face hardened. "No. I should not be pardoned."

"That is not for you to decide, Mr Strange. You have shown me that you thoroughly repent your actions — "

"Please, Mr Norrell — "

"You have submitted to the hex on your dæmon. That in itself is an almost intolerable state of affairs for any magician, and yet you abide it. You have made yourself amenable in every way. You have made no further attempt at escape. You are altogether returned to what you were."

Norrell had made his way back towards the fireplace, and as he drew closer he caught the wretched look on Strange's face.

"Well, whatever is the matter?"

"You shame me with this," Strange said. "What I did — I cannot begin to make it right. At least let me — earn your trust. I beg that you do not give it to me so freely after the way I have acted."

"Really, Mr Strange, you are too severe — "

"You have shown me every kindness."

Norrell was embarrassed, speechless.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a much larger fic that I started back in 2015 but it was way too big and I ended up abandoning it. I decided to work on part of it and just post it because I figure it's better to share what I have rather than never post any of it, but unfortunately that might make it a little confusing. I hope it's still enjoyable even if it's out of chronology. 
> 
> Also, a note on dæmons in this: my approach to their dæmons is more like familiars, but also like a part of the magician's soul, as in Pullman. These dæmons don't talk. [Strange's dæmon](https://www.selectadogbreed.com/media/1608/englishsetter_adult.jpg), [Norrell's dæmon.](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5c348b51372b96c72ef3470e/1553951715313-5I53T5AJDE0NKIE619SO/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kMFiMyT1nneRMhnmfuSfpxZ7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z4YTzHvnKhyp6Da-NYroOW3ZGjoBKy3azqku80C789l0mlM0or4nqX7jrn5yWu0hA1QXedaIFqnAbw_tQShHbKg4-O_KAc44ak5jGzrnn7f3A/AdobeStock_125713929.jpeg)


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